


Save Some Face

by dedougal



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sidney Crosby Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should be delighted, so why does Sid feel he's missing something. Someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Some Face

**Author's Note:**

> And lo, v_greyson said there must be a "Sidney Crosby Needs A Hug" tag and [wrote this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1866780/chapters/4018602). And I wrote a fic to help make it so. C'mon people. Sidney Needs All Hugs, please.
> 
> And, yes, this is utterly ridiculous and unlikely and all.

He’s in Vegas, his hands jammed tight in his pockets and smiling through another interview, when it hits him. Half the questions he’s answering are about the playoff exits and he can only repeat the new year, fresh start line so many times. His cheeks are aching a little from keeping the grin fixed on his face. And, fuck, but he misses Geno.

It’s selfish of him – his parents can fly down to him whenever. It’s not like they’re halfway around the world. He can Skype whenever he wants with his sister because they’re in the same timezone. He doesn’t have to use a calculator to work out when he can speak to his family or anything. And Sidney knows a little bit about living in a place where people don’t speak your language but at least he still had people around him who could switch to English whenever he couldn’t follow along with his shitty French.

“Yeah,” Sidney tells the interviewer’s fake, gleaming smile, when they ask if he’s spoken to Geno. “I saw some pictures of him with a whale or something.”

He nods through the rest of the interview, running on auto-pilot, hoping he doesn’t come across as disengaged as his brain currently was. He’d catch hell for it later.

 

The best thing about Vegas is that no one cares that he’s Sidney Crosby. He can happily sit on a stool at a bar at 3am and stare into his beer and it’s not like someone’s going to take a picture of him and tweet it. The bar tender probably thinks he’s lost all his money and wouldn’t really get that he took home every award he was nominated for tonight. He’s the opposite of a loser, really, what with his contract and his medals and the fact he’s fucking lucky to be doing what he loves and all. But he wants to sit and mope for one last time and then he’s done.

His phone is beside him on the polished wood, reflecting all the dancing lights. The lights remind him a little bit too of his concussion, if he’s entirely honest, and it always takes him a few hours to get used to the noise, the lights, the crowds of Vegas. The texts of congratulations had taped off when people started to head to bed. Or out to clubs, if he knows half the hockey players here. McKinnon looked like he had a headstart on that, for all that he’s a kid.

Sidney’s wondering if he should order another or head for his own bed when his phone rings. It’s not a text. Geno’s smiling fact grins at him for a moment before he realises what’s happening and he picks it up.

“Sid! Sid!” Geno sounds loud and happy and Sid wishes he was here with a fierceness that surprises him.

“Hey, Geno.” He catches sight of himself in the mirror above the bar. He’s smiling again but this time it’s different, somehow. He realises that this time it’s real.

“You look good, Sid. Lots of trophies.” Geno laughs, low and dirty and something in Sid’s gut tightens. “All the trophies.”

“Not the one that counts.” Sid says it before he can censor it.

“Next year, Sid.” Geno’s voice drops a little and Sid feels bad for bringing him down. “I promise.”

“Yeah.” Sid takes a drink and listens to Geno breathe. “Tell me about your whale.”

“It was a shark, Sid. A shark.” Sidney has a flash of memory. He remembers Geno showing up at his house with snacks and beer and a gleeful look on his face and taking over his TV for Shark Week. 

“That’s fucking cool,” Sid replies, knowing exactly how happy it would have made Geno. He probably didn’t stop smiling after, grin wide and white in his tanned skin. “What else have you been doing?”

He listens to Geno chat for a bit, his English a little slow and rough like it normally is after a trip home. He doesn’t even really take in much, feeling sleepy and a little drunk now. He’s slow to realise that Geno has asked him a question.

“Sorry, what?” He yawns into the phone, knowing how rude it is.

“You need bed, Sid. But I ask about freckles.” Geno laughs at him again, fond and sweet. “I know how Sidney party. How many beers ? Three?”

“You were watching?” Sid catches sight of himself in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed now and his mouth looks wet and slick and he has a moment of wishing Geno could see it too.

“Of course. I know you better than Toews.” Geno’s voice is still mainly light. “Go to bed, Sid.”

“Yeah.” Sid pauses, looks in the mirror again. “I wish you were here.”

“Vegas? Yeah, I would show you how to party.” Geno makes a soft noise that Sid interprets as him trying to mimic dance beats or something. Sid let out a soft snort in reply. “See you soon, Sid.”

“Soon.” Geno ends the call and Sid lowers his phone back to the bar. He waves at the bar tender, settles up and rolls his shoulders when he stands. Drinking along isn’t good for him, even if he liked the peace and quiet.

 

He gets a text from the airport, from Geno’s American phone. He presumes it’s from the airport because he knows Geno is supposed to be coming in soon. All it says is )))))))).

Sidney tamps down on that lurch in his stomach that’s become weird and familiar since Vegas and grabs his keys. He’s got groceries in the fridge which he bought that morning and he’s desperately telling himself he’s being a good friend as he heads over to Geno’s.

He’s just finished putting the milk in the door of the fridge and laughing at the sticker of himself on the outside of it when Geno opens the front door.

He’s taller than Sidney remembered. That’s his first thought. Geno looks at him strangely for a moment, eyes half shuttered with exhaustion. “Sid!” The joy in his voice is clear and it makes sense for Sidney to cross the floor between them and open his arms and step into a hug he’s been thinking about for a while. Geno hangs onto him, for longer than Sidney would have thought he would. There’s even a moment when Sidney thinks Geno has fallen asleep on him, head resting against his temple.

“Missed you, Sid.” The words are spoken against his temple and Geno’s lips brush his skin and it sends this weird shiver down Sidney’s back and he ends up leaning away. Geno’s arms are still loose around his waist.

Geno looks shell-shocked, a little scared and tired beyond belief. “Hey, missed you too.” It’s only then that Sidney remembers he has his own arms locked around Geno’s waist. He should let go, punch him in the arm. Stick his hands in his pockets for safety. But he doesn’t.

“Freckles.” Geno lifts one hand from Sid’s shoulders and brushes a careful fingertip across his cheekbone. “I had to google word.”

“I forgot sunscreen,” Sid admits, a little guilty still.

“I like.” Geno still hasn’t let go and guides Sid back against him. Sid keeps holding tight. “I like you, Sidney.” The phrase sounds practised and prepared but Sid still takes a moment to work out why.

“Like you too,” he risks, hoping Geno takes it however he wants. He tries to supress the wild hope threatening to overwhelm him. Geno doesn’t reply, though. He just presses his mouth against Sid’s temple once more and lets go.

“Bed, now.” Geno shuffles towards the doorway before looking back at Sidney. “For us?”

Sidney knows they should talk, knows they should be trying to lay out rules and clear up any misunderstandings. This is too easy, too natural for him. But he can feel that soft, real smile break out across his face and he knows Geno will be able to read into it everything Sidney can’t say right now. “Yeah, okay,” is what he goes for instead.

Geno grins back at him, equally soft and fond.


End file.
